Ser
by RenShep
Summary: Marian Hawke enjoys pushing the Knight-Captain's buttons. Sexual tension ensues.
1. prologue

He'd never forget the moment he first saw her, then again, she was not the type of woman one easily forgot. He'd heard her voice first, as she hurled accusations and insults at him, threatening him and mocking the order. He'd turned to see her approaching with determined strides. There were few who would risk getting on the bad side of any Templar, let alone a Captain, but she didn't seem to be to be cowed by it in the least. She didn't seem the sort to be cowed by anything.

She was encased in leather armor. It was not the highest quality, but well fitted and well cared for. Her face was more striking than beautiful, with high cheekbones tinged pink from her anger, a firm jaw and a nose a touch too long. Her hair was black, pulled back in a messy bun; her raven wing brows drawn together in a frown above deeply set grey eyes.

She hadn't been alone, though at the time he'd not even glanced at her companions. She had that effect, he would come to eventually realize. When she was present all others were no more than an afterthought.

At that time however, he was not able to contemplate such things. His fears were realized when the recruit he had been interrogating split open and twisted into the grotesque form of a demon. He had drawn his sword immediately and focused upon his foe, but he didn't fail to note that her blades joined his as she jumped fearlessly into fray. She was a whirlwind; her daggers flashing with impossible speed, weaving between the hissing shapes and striking effectively. Within minutes the demon and it's attendants had been cut down.

When turned his eyes upon her next she'd calmly among the ash and gore, a half smile upon her face. She'd wiped blackened blood from her blades, smearing it across her leathers, and re-sheathed them over her shoulders, leveling him with her gaze as she approached. He knew at that moment precisely what she was. Chaos.

Her tone had been no less accusing when the battle was won. But he'd asked for her aid just the same, and despite the hard glint in her eye she followed through. In fact, she'd proved herself to be more than he'd expected.

No, he'd never forget the moment he met her.

The plot she'd uncovered had been sinister, a vile plan to seed the order with possessed recruits. She destroyed the pack of blood mages who had wrought the evil and managed to save a life as well. She returned to the Gallows with the missing recruit and a tale which would have been difficult to believe without proof.

When he'd told the Knight-Commander about Tarohne and her ilk, and the plan that Hawke had uncovered, she had seemed to be suitably impressed. But impressed or not Meredith had disparaged that such aid had come from a Ferelden refugee. Cullen found it strange; that she would say such a thing to him, though their reasons may have been different he was as much an emigrant as Hawke was.

"Keep an eye on this Hawke," Meredith had said, "At least until we can know whether she's friend or foe. I do not trust these refugee's taking over the city."

Keeping account of Hawke's actions proved to be a simple thing to do. Her name was on the lips of many, and her exploits told city wide. The story of the Ferelden girl come to Kirkwall to restore her family name was told by many. He knew that wasn't entirely true, he knew that like many she'd been fleeing the blight. But as it turned out Hawke was in fact the eldest grandchild of a lesser noble family, the Amell's, who'd since fallen into ruin.

Within two year she'd earned the respect of the Qunari, saved the life of the Viscounts son, had ruined the Guard Captain and pushed a Ferelden in his place, and had, of course, foiled a plot to tear apart the order from the inside out. She'd also undertaken an expedition; returning with riches enough to restore her family's former estate.

Over the years her appearance in the Gallows, though not frequent, was common enough a sight to be seen. Their relationship had... changed over that time. She was a woman who knew how to read people, and enjoyed toying with them besides. Their interactions turned into something hostile and heated. Her beliefs about mages were at war with his own; yet the exquisite tension between them was impossible to deny. But deny he did.

Cullen had learned long ago what danger can lie behind an alluring face. He'd overcome the blushing, bashful fool he'd once been, stuttering over apprentices and sisters alike. He had survived imprisonment and torture only to become stronger for it; and he'd felt the enticing touch of a demon without submitting to desire.

Certainly he could remain cool and detached with one irksome woman who scorned the duties he held so sacred.

Hawke, however, proved to be a trial.


	2. Chapter 2

"Congratulations on your promotion, Knight-Captain. It seems the Knight-Commander continues to favor you." Cullen caught himself from grimacing at the sound of her voice, the hair on his neck standing on end. Her flippant insinuation his teeth on edge, though she was not the first to imply such a thing. He steeled his face into an impassive mask before turning on his heel to address her.

"Serah Hawke, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He kept his tone as neutral as possible, but couldn't quite stop the bite of annoyance which came with his words.

She tilted her head as she regarded him, one corner of her mouth pulling up in a crooked smile, looking just as cocky and full of herself as ever. She was as thin as a whip, bordering on elvish in her slender build, and didn't have the curves most men favored. But he'd seen those long limbs in action and knew they held more strength than one would assume. She was a dangerous creature.

"You don't believe I would I would stop by simply to offer my congratulations?" She asked sweetly.

"I don't believe, serah Hawke, that you do anything without reason." She was far too cunning for her own good, and something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. His templar training whispered _mage _whenever he saw her and yet no one ever spoke even a word of it. He'd thought, once or twice, he'd seen a waver, felt a pull of the veil around her, but it had been so brief, so faint he couldn't be certain.

One of these days he was going to smite her just to see what happened.

Her grin spread, as though she read his thoughts and was offering him a challenge. "You know me better than I give you credit for, Knight-Captain. Have you been keeping your eyes on me?" She struck a flirtatious pose.

"No more than I feel is necessary, serah." He responded coolly, looking over her head.

"Sister, _please _don't antagonize the Templar." The voice came from behind her. He'd all but forgotten she even had a brother, and hadn't noticed that the young man in question had been standing there. He seemed quite ordinary when compared to his sister, a point which undoubtedly rankled the boy.

"Oh come now Carver, how many times have I had to watch you trip over your tongue flirting with Isabela? Let me have my fun." She never took her eyes from Cullen's as she spoke.

On her other side her beardless dwarf spoke up. "You really should be paying attention, little Hawke. You could stand to learn a thing or two."

"Fine," the boy grumbled, looking at them both in disgust. "Have your fun. But if you wind up with a Templar sword in your belly don't come running to me." He turned and left.

When her brother was out of earshot she leaned forward and whispered, "Tell me, ser, do you have a desire to thrust your Templar sword into me?" Her voice dropped to something velvety and dangerous, and her grey eyes glittering beneath her lashes.

He narrowed his own at her, his patience wearing thin. "What is it you want, Hawke?" He asked bluntly.

She sighed dejectedly and gave up her game for the moment, "I came to inform you of certain unsavory rumors regarding some of your fellows."

He frowned. He hated that she would be the one to bring him something Templar related. He folded his arms across his chest. "What have you heard?"

"Lyrium smugglers have set up in some caves on the coast. Seems the ringleader is one of _your_ lieutenants. While I know you Templars must feed your _addiction, _the smugglers are likely responsible not only for the death of two guardsmen, but also a group of Dalish hunters who were returning to their clan. Though I highly doubt that the latter concerns you."

He ignored her implication, "Where are they located?"

She pulled a scrap of paper from one of her pockets and handed him the crudely drawn map. "As you know, ser, I've friends within the guard." She stepped forward threateningly, "I do not appreciate my friends being put in needless danger."

He felt his lip curling in anger at her accusation, but caught himself quickly. He'd not allow her to get the best of him. In a calm, controlled voice he asked, "And you thought to bring this matter to me rather bring it to the Guard Captain? I'm surprised."

"As you've stated I rarely do things without reason, ser. And as I've stated you know me quite well. I took the matter to the Avenline first, but the guard is short on coin these days, and didn't want to waste any on Templar business. You wouldn't know anyone who could help a poor girl out, would you?"

"Of course, you come for a promise of gold." Rumors had been floating throughout Hightown that Hawke was too ambitious for her own good. He could understand the rumors; she'd certainly risen in the city, and had made powerful allies along the way. But he didn't think she cared for political gain. Greedy perhaps, grasping, no. In fact, outside of providing for her family, she didn't seem to have any direction at all.

Which was probably why she spent so much time vexing him.

That look crossed her face again, the one which made him want to grind his teeth, her game back on. "You want to know what else makes me _come_, Ser?"

He ignored the bait and considered his options. He didn't like having to employ her services. For one, it meant he'd have to see her again, which came with the usual headaches. And secondly, he didn't want her to have any more information on the order than she already had. He might not think she was overtly ambitious, but there was never a way to be certain.

And he'd learned before coming to Kirkwall that trust misplaced could spell disaster.

But it seemed, this time, the choice was made for him.

She was always discreet, and this type of situation required discretion. Lyrium addiction was part and parcel of the Templar life, though Cullen despised such weakness. Rehabilitating addicts was difficult business, and not always successful. If he handled the situation himself he would need to employ his men. If the Templar contact was indeed one of his lieutenants as she claimed, his investigation would likely not get very far.

Decision made he nodded. "Very well, Hawke, should you deal with the smugglers you have my word that you will be compensated." He thought for a moment before adding, "If you can get information as to who the lieutenant in question is a bonus will be added to your reward."

She grinned up at him. "I knew you would see it my way." She leaned forward and said in a low purr, "And since you've been so agreeable, ser, perhaps I'll even compensate you in return." She gave him a saucy wink before she turned and walked in the direction her brother had wandered.

As he watched her leave he trained his eyes on the back of her head. He did not lower his gaze. He did not allow his eyes to follow the long line of her back, did not allow them to take in the curve of her heart shaped arse, her long supple legs or swaying gait. She was an unpredictable creature, in most aspects, but he was familiar with this game of hers. And he knew exactly how she played it.

She was nine paces from him before she turned back to smile at him one last time.

When she turned away the second time he allowed, for just a moment, his gaze to drop to and appreciate her tempting figure.


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke couldn't quite stop smiling to herself as she walked away from Cullen. She truly wasn't a flirt or a tease. Okay, she was a flirt and a tease, but never like that, never so forward or suggestive. But whenever she spoke with the Knight-Captain she just couldn't help herself.

She remembered the first time she met him. The circumstances were hard to forget, then again, so was he. The chisled jaw, the long straight nose, firm mouth and the eyes. Oh Maker, those eyes; serious, determined and direct.

Despite the fact that she'd nearly been bowled over by his good looks, he eventually had to open his mouth to speak. Typical chantry rhetoric. No, she thought, not typical. He was more driven than some, more sincere in his mistrust of mages, more stubborn in his belief. There was a story there, she could tell, though what it involved she had no idea.

And so, it was true, the first time she saw him she was struck smitten, and then unstruck almost immediately. She still found him handsome, she had two eyes after all, and even she had to give the man some respect. But other than a few lingering gazes when he wasn't looking, she kept their relationship entirely professional.

Then one day, several months after they'd met, she'd bumped into him - literally.

She'd left the Hanged Man in the wee hours of the morning to weave her way to her good uncle's shack. The sky was just lightening into day and she hadn't been paying attention to where she was going, instead looking up as the last of the stars faded. It was due to her wandering eyes that she walked straight into a wall; a wall made of steel and leather and scented with lyrium.

She'd landed on her ass in the middle of the street.

_"Are you alright, miss?" the wall had asked as it reached down to help her to her feet._

_Perhaps it was the whiskey she'd been swimming in half the night. Oh, who was she kidding, it was always the whiskey, but she opened her mouth all she could think of to say was, "Well hello there, Ser Gorgeous." _

_A faint flush spread across his cheeks. Not much, mind you, but enough that even in her condition she'd noticed. Her balance hadn't caught up with her when she was on her feet again; she swayed, gripping his arms for balance and looking up into his face. "Maker you have beautiful eyes," she blurted out, noticing that his flush deepened._

_She watched his expression change as recognition dawned. "Hawke?" he asked, taking in her obviously inebriated state. "You're drunk," he accused with a frown._

_His disapproval made her laugh, and delighted her to no end. "I am indeed, ser." She grinned "and I hope you're here to take advantage of me," she added suggestively._

_He stiffened at her words, "Pardon?"_

_She stood on the tips of her toes, using his broad shoulders for balance as she whispered directly in his ear. "You heard me, ser. I'd like nothing better than a personal tour beneath those robes of yours." _

_He took a step back, pulling her hands from his shoulders and clenching his jaw. "I trust you can see yourself safely home, serah." And he turned on his heel and left her there staring after him. _

She had realized then and there that she had gotten to him. Through all that heavy plate and chantry rhetoric she'd found the man underneath - and she made him _twitch_. It was somehow intoxicating, to affect a man who seemed to be such a prude, and who clearly didn't seem to care for her much. She had smiled the rest of the walk to her uncle's home, and from that day forward whenever she saw the Knight-Captain she couldn't quite help herself.

"Hawke." A bemused voice brought her back to the present.

She glanced down at her companion. "Varric."

"I was curious..."

She cocked a brow and waited.

"As long as I have known you, you've shown little interest in available men. Oh, sure, you flirt, but never seriously. Yet every time you interact with Ser Stick-up-His-Ass you turn all..." He searched for the word; when it didn't produce himself he made one up, "Isabela-y."

She chuckled, "Did you just turn Isabela into an adjective?"

He shrugged. "Artistic license. Riviani would approve. Now, you and the Knight-Captain?"

"That was a very Varric-y thing to say," she grinned at him.

"And that is a very Hawke-ish was of avoiding my question," he returned.

She laughed again, "You just want to find out if there are any gritty details you can weave into a story."

"No, not at all." He held his hands up in innocence, as though she were fool enough to buy it. "I'm more than happy to make the details up. Believe it or not, I'm really just curious to hear the truth. I'm not the only one, Aveline mentioned it, too, some weeks past."

"Talk about someone who could stand to learn a thing or two," she joked.

"You're getting Hawke-ish again," he accused.

"Fine, fine." She shrugged, an amused expression still on her face. "It's just a bit of fun."

"Your type of fun seems a bit dangerous for someone like you." He prodded.

She could feel her smile grow, "Perhaps that's it then? The danger..." she waggled her eyebrows.

"I wouldn't put that past you. But it's _more_ than that. Come on, you can tell me."

She looked back down at him. "Well, he is gorgeous, I won't deny that, but he's so bloody stuffy. All straight laced and laiden with chantry guilt," she rolled her eyes. "His idea of a 'night out' is probably spending on his knees in penance, and I don't mean the _fun_ kind." She shrugged again, "I find it incredibly amusing to get under his skin so I can watch him react."

"That wasn't much of a reaction," he ventured.

"That is where you are wrong, my friend. That is a man of incredible self-control, any response he would have _would_ be subtle. Did you not see the muscle in his jaw clench? The way his eyes narrowed? The way he _almost_ snapped at me when he'd had enough of my ridiculous behavior?" She chuckled and continued with a broad smile and no small amount of pride, "He found me _particularly_ annoying today."

Varric remained unconvinced. "If you say so, but seems a lot of effort for little effect."

"But I enjoy the effort," she grinned. "I wouldn't worry about any danger, Varric. While I might manage to irritate him, ser Curmudgeon will ever fall for my Isabela-y ways. The man has probably never lain with a woman. You know those chantry boys with their vows and their rules." She made a face and shrugged again.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Hawke. Despite what you may think, I happen to know for a fact that Ser Forbidding back there once kept a certain Hightown widow as a mistress."

"Nooo..." she said, shocked. She looked at her friend out of the corner of her eye. "_Really_?"

"Most of them do, my dear. Even holier-than-tho Knight-Captains. Besides, I'm fairly certain Templars aren't required to take vows of chastity. Wasn't Aveline married to one?"

She frowned,"Hmph. You make a good point."

Varric spread his arms. "That's what I'm here for. To point out the obvious."

"I thought that was what Merrill was for?"

It was his turn to shrug, "I also fill in the gaps when she's not around."

She smiled down at him fondly. "I still wouldn't worry about Ser Stick-in-the-Mud. I just like seeing how far I can push him."

"Just be careful, Hawke. If you push a man too far you might just go over the edge with him." He said with a warning in his tone.

"Noted," she said with a nod. "Now, tell me all about this Hightown mistress. I want details!"


	4. Chapter 4

The smugglers were easy to find, though much of that had to do with Varric's network of spies throughout the city. Taking them out proved to be a simple thing as well; though well-armed they were not well skilled. No Templar's were present within, but she hadn't expected any. She did, however come across some information which the Knight-Captain would likely pay handsomely for.

She'd nicked a few vials of lyrium for herself, and several more for Anders besides. With the hours he spent in his clinic he certainly had need of it more than she did. Her talents went mostly unused. She thanked the Maker almost every day that father had taught her to not rely on her magic unless absolutely necessary, and had suggested she take up arms when she'd proved to be too bold for her own good. It had gone a long way to ensuring her freedom.

It was getting late by the time they made it back to the city, and rather than trek to Hightown with Fenris she followed Varric and Anders to the Hanged Man. She needed some time among friends. The truth was, though she wouldn't say as much to Isabela, Hawke did miss slumming it in Lowtown. There was something about the stench of piss and desperation which reminded her of home.

The minute she stepped into the bar the pirate herself made herself known, sauntering over to them with her normal sultry flair. "Well, look what the cat finally dragged back to Lowtown," she said as they all made their way up to Varric's quarters.

"And good evening to you too, Isabela." Hawke grinned.

"What have the three of you been up to while I've been left here all on my own?" She pouted, "I've been _bored_."

Hawke snorted at that. Isabela was never alone. Where ever she went a bevy of suitors were soon to follow. She sat down at the large table they shared before answering, "Oh, just killing some bad guys," she said blandly before raising her mug to her lips.

"And pinching a bit of lyrium," added Anders.

"And watching Hawke throw herself at the Knight-Captain," finished Varric with a flourish.

Anders nearly choked on his drink and sent Hawke an affronted look. "Please tell me that was a joke."

"Sorry to disappoint, Blondie." Varric didn't seem sorry in the least, "It seems our Hawke is a bit of a deviant."

"Oooh, the Knight-Captain?" Isabela leaned forward eagerly, all tits and ears. "Is this some naughty Templar fantasy apostates have?"

"Varric, you just couldn't keep quiet a minute longer, could you?" Hawke moaned.

"Did you truly believe I would, serah?" The dwarf sounded far too amused.

Anders found less humor in the situation. "Do you have any clue how risky even speaking to him is?"

"That's all I was doing Anders, just speaking. Like I've done on and off for two years now. He has no idea what I am and I am not an idiot." _Most of the time. _"It's mostly harmless. I flirt, Ser Sexy gets angry, and then we part. That's all. It's _funny_."

Varric chimed in with his support, "It really is," he chuckled.

Isabela purred, "_Mostly_ harmless?" From the gleam in Isabela's eye Hawke could see that the pirate wench had it already figured out. She knew that if the opportunity presented itself Hawke would happily climb onto Cullen's lap and ride him like a bronto, dangers be damned. The pirate could sometimes be a bit too observant, particularly in matters such as this.

Still, Hawke wasn't about to admit it, especially in front of Anders. "Fine. It's _completely_ harmless. Satisfied?"

"No." Both Isabela and Anders said at the same time, though for very different reasons.

Varric decided to stop what he'd started, thank the Maker, and turned the conversation to other matters. She ordered another drink and tried to enjoy herself. Well, as much as glare Anders kept sending her allowed her to. Really, for someone who thought all Templars were mage hating zealots he was terribly judgmental.

But she wouldn't allow his mood to ruin her evening. It was nice to be back in the Hanged Man, surrounded by her friends, Anders included, and sharing stories over a few pints and the occasional shot of whiskey. She threw her arm around the mage in question and gave him a squeeze. He smiled in return.

Since moving to Hightown her life had changed. Most of those changes were for the better. Her home was comfortable, her family was safe and they could want for nothing. But unless they had some business she didn't see her friends as often as she once did and missed their company. Even Fenris, who lived just around the corner, never spent much actual time in Hightown. Not that she blamed him for it.

Hawke knew she didn't fit with the nobles, didn't think she ever would. Her mother was constantly pushing her to mingle with the neighbors. But it's difficult to make small talk with strangers you have nothing in common with, and she had about as much in common with nobles as a street rat had with the viscount. And so, despite a home in Hightown and a well-known name, Hawke still found herself more comfortable in Lowtown with all its unsavory delights.

Though she'd tried to explain it to her mother, and had brought it up on several occasions, Mother had refused to accept it and insisted any daughter of hers should feel at home with the upperclass. She had even go so far as to suggest_, repeatedly_, that Hawke begin considering suitable matches. As though a mage, no matter how skilled at hiding her talents, would ever dare settle down and raise a family in a city full of templars.

Besides, if she married, she'd have to change her behavior towards one Templar in particular.

And then what would she do for fun?

The thought made her grin.

And her amusement made her order another pint.

And then one thing led to another...


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen was exhausted by the time he had finished with his duties for the day. He'd spent more hours than was typical for him in the practice yard this afternoon, finding it necessary to work out some unwanted tension. Tension could be a distraction, and he could not afford to be anything but vigilant. He'd tested a few of the new recruits who were training and wound up doing so with more vigor than was necessary. But it had felt good, and deep within his muscles a comforting ache had settled.

Afternoon turned into evening and he'd found himself in his office dealing with several matters of business which could not wait. There was much of that as of late, it came with his promotion to Second-in-Command. There were a number of new responsibilities, more demands to be met, more people he was responsible for, but he had taken upon these new responsibilities with fervor. His position was one of respect, and he had every intention of maintaining it.

Being Knight-Captain had other benefits as well, of course. In addition to a hefty pay increase he also had an assistant, an elf who had not taken vows but was loyal to the order, without whom he'd be hard pressed to see to meet all demands made of him.

"I've sent your squire ahead to have a bath prepared and sent your supper to your rooms, ser." He looked up to his assistant as he entered.

"Thank you, Jaytham. That will be all." Cullen stood and stretched, his back was stiff and he knew he should have changed out of his armor before he sat down at his desk, but had simply failed to do so and eventually got too caught up with work to even think about it. Having worn it since just after dawn it had grown heavy and uncomfortable and he was looking forward to removing it from his person. He closed his office door, locking it behind him, and made his way to his rooms.

His own quarters, his very own private retreat at the end of the day. To a man who grew up in a chantry orphanage, then moved directly into barracks, the idea of having a space all one's own was a novelty, one which he cherished. Though the higher ranking knights might have the illusion of privacy with their strategically placed screens, an illusion was all it really was.

His rooms were modest, a good sized bedchamber and smaller room for bathing, but they were neat and organized and his. A comfortable chair faced the small hearth, a thick carpet covered the floor, and a row of shelves held the books and scrolls he'd collected. The large feather bed was comfortable, with soft linen sheets, down pillows and a heavy quilt.

He removed his weapons and set them on their rack as he entered. "Your bath is ready, Ser." This came from his squire, a boy raised by the chantry much as Cullen had been. Davith was a smart lad who understood Cullen's exacting standards and never made the same mistake twice. Someday the boy would take his vows and become a Templar, just as Cullen had. The cycle as old as the order itself.

He nodded towards him. "Thank you. Help me remove my armor and you can take the rest of the evening off."

Davith did as he was asked efficiently. Expertly unbuckling the heavy plate and hanging it on the armor stand. He would rise before Cullen in the morning and have it cleaned and ready by the time it was needed again. Cullen sighed when the last of it was removed and Davith hung it on it's stand. The lad helped Cullen out of his boots before bidding him good night.

Alone, Cullen removed his Templar robes and hung them in the armoire, then pulled his linen shirt over his head, letting out a pleasant sigh as his muscles stretched. He moved towards the small chamber off the main room to bathe, but stopped short when a voice came from behind him. His hand went to his waist out of habit, and he cursed himself for having removed his dagger.

"I can see why Meredith likes keeping you close, Knight-Captain. Shame the rest of us only get to see you wearing all that plate and robing." A burst of anger heated his skin. He spun on his heel and found her easily, sitting comfortably before the fire, drinking his wine. His eyes narrowed dangerously_._ How both he and his squire had missed her presence he didn't know, but it immediately raised his hackles and her presence in his rooms made his blood boil.

Who did this bold woman think she was, to sneak into his sanctuary uninvited? His hands clenched and unclenched, fighting the urge to wrap themselves around her pretty neck. He breathed deeply through his nose, attempting to get ahold of his rage before he trusted himself to speak.

Her voice filled the silence. "For a while there I thought that under your plate you wore a second set of armor, and so on. Like one of those Orleasan nesting dolls, until you were no larger than a cat." She laughed at her own absurd comment and took a sip of wine.

He did not share her humor. "This area is off limits, Hawke." He couldn't quite hide the growl in his voice. "And I demand to know how you got in here." She had to have crossed at least three guard postings to make it to his quarters. At least. Were his men so lax in their duties? Or perhaps the rogue had seduced her way through them; he would not put such a thing past her. The thought intensified the growl which had settled in his throat.

She put down his wine goblet, stood and rounded the chair she'd been sitting in. She was wearing her armor, very high quality compared to what she wore when they'd first met; beautifully crafted leather and chain which enhanced her athletic build. She was fully armed as well, the grips of her twin daggers visible over her shoulders. Her eyes raked over his naked chest languidly.

"As you know, ser, I am a _very_ resourceful woman." She stood within reach of him now, he could almost feel a tangible pull of her presence, as though is body was responding to the siren's call of hers.

He growled, "I never doubted it, serah. But you've never been particularly foolish either." He leaned forward menacingly, "Yet here I find you treading dangerous territory." He caught the scent of spirits on her. "You're drunk," he accused.

"Indeed," she replied with a charmingly lopsided smile.

He resisted the urge to strangle her, again. "I _should_ have you arrested for your trespass. But I don't wish to deal with the questions which would undoubtedly rise. So I will not call for the guard, _provided_ you leave quietly." He folded his arms across his chest and gave her an icy glare. "And since you let yourself in I assume you're capable of letting yourself out."

"You are correct, ser, _assuming_ that I wish to leave." Her eyes dropped again, tracing the shape of his shoulders, his arm, traveling down his waist, lower. "The Maker certainly did you some favors when he made you," she sighed.

He could feel his body reacting to her. He'd been without a woman for some time, since before his promotion in fact. He'd ended his arrangement with a lovely widow when she'd begun speaking of remarrying, which was not something he was prepared to give. And now that he had made a name for himself in this city he didn't dare visit the Rose. Despite going without female company, he was certainly no maniac mad with lust. He was more than capable of denying himself the pleasures of the flesh. He was no animal.

Though Hawke was trying her best to drive him to it. "What you want, serah, is of no concern to me." He pointed to the door. "Get out."

"I've taken care of your lyrium smugglers." She stated, ignoring his order entirely and continuing the slow perusal of his form.

"I will pay you tomorrow." He moved forward, grabbed her arm and began pulling her towards the exit.

She halted him by speaking. "And I found your lieutenant." He looked down at her as she continued. "A name I'd be willing to part with. For a price." Her eyes were half lidded and her mouth twisted in a seductive smirk.

The wench.

He clenched his jaw. "I am unwilling to negotiate, Serah, but I am willing to toss you over my shoulder and remove you myself." He threatened.

"You haven't even heard what I want, Ser Cullen," she pouted.

He knew very well what she wanted. To get under his skin, to drive him to madness; she was not without some sucess. "Nor do I care to." He ground out.

Her pout lasted for the space of a heartbeat, "Come now, I simply want to hear a tale." She took a step forward until there were only inches between them; he fought to keep his body from leaning towards hers, to keep himself from noticing that she smelled of leather and sin. Though tall for a woman she had to look up to meet his eyes, which made him think of what it would be like to have her on her knees.

She flashed him a quick smile, "Just one tale. I promise to return the favor, if you'd like." Her even white teeth bit into the flesh of her lower lip.

He couldn't quite bring himself to back away from her, but he did release her arm. His blood was hot and settling heavily in his groin. Damn the woman, but he enjoyed this tension between them. The way she pushed, challenged, and brought him to the edge of his control.

She liked to test him - and he was coming to realize he enjoyed being tested.

And damn if he didn't want to fuck her mouth right now.

Despite his better judgment he asked, "What sort of tale did you wish to hear, Hawke?" His voice was rough to his own ears.

"Let's see," she said, openly admiring the bare expanse of chest. Her hand snaked between them and she ran a finger across the skin just below his collar bone, tracing one of the many scars which laced his body. "I want to hear how you got this." Her breath ghosted across his skin, causing a second surge heat of heat to rush to his groin.

He kept his voice as neutral as he could. "I recieved that while travelling from Denerim to Amaranthine shortly after the blight." She was continuing to trace it absently while he spoke, doing her best to distract him. It was working, his cock standing at attention, the pressure building with each gentle brush of her finger, "We were set upon by darkspawn in the night. I was unarmored. It has a sister on my leg."

Her hand moved searching out its next target. He nearly hissed when her nail lightly scraped across his nipple. Her fingers were cool and clever as they danced across his skin, finally settling on a thick white ridge on his ribs. "And this one?"

His cock throbbed, pressing against his breeches, as if trying to make its presence known to her. But his voice, though thick, never wavered, "A training accident, before I took my vows. A blunted axe was not as dull as it should have been."

She proved her boldness further by allowing her fingers to continue their journey, circling a spot just next to his hipbone. "And this," she whispered. He glanced down where she touched him. The very tip of his cock, distended, purple and beaded with moisture, was just visible though the top of his waistband. He watched as her fingers dipped lower, closer-

He reached down and gripped her wrist and was rewarded with a light gasp of pain when he wrenched her arm behind her back. "You asked for one tale, Hawke, I gave you two," he rumbled down at her.

Her breathing had grown heavy, her eyes bright in her face. "Forgive me ser, my curiosity knows no bounds."

He very nearly laughed at that, "I think you're simply greedy, wench."

"Not true. I can be extremely giving, ser." She said breathlessly. "Let me show you." Her tongue slipped out to moisten her bottom lip. He stared at her mouth hard; he needed only to lower his a few inches and he would be able to taste her. He needed only to suggest that he was willing ...

_Andraste give me strength._

He released her arm and stepped back from her. "Your information?" he demanded.

She held his gaze for a moment before sighing and pulling a piece of paper from one of her pockets. She handed it to him, "This should tell you all you need to know." He took the paper and glanced at it briefly before raising his eyes to her once again.

She took a step forward, her smile no less wicked than it had been a moment before, "And my reward?"

"Will be ready for you tomorrow," he stated as coolly as he could manage. "You know where to find me."

"A pity." She looked him over slowly before sighing, "It _has_ been a pleasure seeing you, Ser Cullen." She turned and headed towards the door, calling over her shoulder, "I will be around tomorrow for my payment."

"Very well, serah Hawke."

She paused at the threshold and looked back, allowing her eyes to linger on his arousal and added, "If you need some help with your bath, however, or would simply like some company..."

"Good night, Hawke."

With a final sigh she opened the door and slipped into the night.

"Damned woman." He muttered to himself before reaching down to palm his aching cock.


End file.
